


Big Sky Eyes

by Tilltheendwilliwrite



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers AU, Cowboy Bucky Barnes, Cowboy Steve Rogers, Eventual Smut, F/M, PTSD, Violence, physical disabilities, therapist Steve Rogers, тэг заменён на Don't copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 19:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18482440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilltheendwilliwrite/pseuds/Tilltheendwilliwrite
Summary: Avengers AU - Maybe Cole hasn't had a place to call home or stable roots in years. After tragedy struck in New York, she set out to see if she could outrun the ghosts that stalked here heels. What she didn't plan on, was finding a job on a ranch that was more than merely a places to raise cattle.A rehabilitation center for wounded veterans, she finally finds a place where her own disability no longer sets her apart. But when her past catches up with her, will she run, or will she trust the men she's come to think of as family and the one working hard to steal her heart?





	Big Sky Eyes

* * *

 

The beat up truck rattled terribly as it made its way toward his house. Between the rust and the blue smoke of burning oil, Bucky was surprised it ran at all, but behind the spider web of cracks through the windshield, he could just make out the image of the woman driving.

Shy of five am by all of ten minutes, he arched an intrigued brow and leaned on the rail of his homes wrap around porch. The old farmhouse had gone through many reincarnations throughout its life, from one bedroom to two, from a single story to one and a half, and finally into what Bucky had envisioned for it all his life. Open plan, wide plank hand scraped hardwood floors, lots of glass, plenty of chrome and stone surfaces. It wasn't a typical ranchman's house of walls of wood and animal heads, but then he'd never professed to be the typical rancher. Unlike plenty in these parts, he had money. Not buckets of it, but enough to buy back the family ranch and make of it what he wished.

Still, he didn't know anyone with a truck that old or a face that pretty. When she finally pulled up in front of the house, the dogs that had been barking at the barn had made it to her door and were barking at her window.

He tilted his head and watched her stare at his two Wolfhounds and three Russian Hounds in fear before her eyes darted back to him.

Bucky let out a piercing whistle and called the pack back to the porch where a soft word of Russian had them all settling to lay alertly at the base of the stairs. He returned his attention to the woman and gave her a nod. In all honesty, they were friendly. It would take special command or act of aggression to have the hounds tearing into a person. And when she pushed open the shrieking, rusty door of her dying pickup, Bucky knew he'd never want to see his dogs sink teeth into her milk-pale skin. She clung to the door, and he noted the pink colouring her shoulders.

This was not a woman used to being in the sun. Or anywhere near a ranch if he judged her by her footwear. Flip flops were not appropriate anywhere around the grounds.

She'd yet to step out from behind the truck door, and Bucky finally called out, “Help you, ma'am?”

She took a limping step forward. “I'm… I'm looking for Mr. Barnes? Mr. James Barnes.”

It had been a lot of years since he'd been called James. Not since his mama was alive and giving him hell. “That depends on if you're lookin’ for senior or junior. If you're after senior, you missed him about six miles back when you passed Our Lady of Mercy Cemetery. If its junior you're after, you're lookin’ at him.”

She took another limping step, still clutching the door. “I suppose its junior then. I hear you need a cook, Mr. Barnes.”

He straightened and tipped his hat back. “That I do, ma'am, but I'm not one to have this sort of conversation across thirty feet of lawn. C'mon in the house and we can discuss it.”

He turned to head for the door when she called out, “Wait! What about the dogs?”

“They won't hurt you long as you ain't got a mind to hurt anyone else,” Bucky said frowning a little.

“They won't jump up will they?”

Bucky peered at her for a long moment. In the rising sun, her hair was a glow, a halo of platinum that couldn't be natural. She stood clinging to the door in a white peasant blouse and long jean shorts, her right leg slightly bent and hidden behind the door frame.

“They won't bother you if you don't bother them,” he assured her.

She looked skeptical for a moment before limping back to the pickup and pulling something from within. It wasn't until she swung the door shut with a slam and the pole landed that he realized why she'd been worried. The silver forearm crutch caught the light and sent it flashing back at him as she made her way slowly across the grass.

“Myesto. Tikho,” he murmured to the dogs, telling them to stay and to be quiet. They wouldn't move without his express permission now, no more than to catch her scent as she went by. Then he made his way to the bottom of the stairs and waited for her. When she arrived, he held out his hand.

“I know how to climb stairs,” she said still eyeing his dogs.

There was no heat in her statement, and he figured she was used to people offering her pity, trying to do everything for her because of her disability, but that wasn't his intention. “And I know a handrail would make all the difference in assisting you with that, but as I've yet to get around to puttin’ a rail up on these extra wide steps, my hand will have to do,” he said softly, his tone without condemnation or pity.

She looked up at him, and Bucky felt a fist punch him in the stomach. Her eyes were the brightest he'd ever seen. They were blue. Sky blue. Like the vast expanse above them. Big sky eyes. The kind you could drown in. The kind a man could lose himself in.

She seemed to search his for a minute before she took his offered hand. “Thank you, Mr. Barnes. I'm not used to simple kindness.”

“It's Bucky, and thanks isn't necessary if I can get your name.”

“Maybe.”

He gave a small smile. “Are you a fairy that givin’ up your name gives me power over you?” he asked, teasing her just a little.

She gave a disgruntled sigh and finished the last uncomfortable step. “No. My name is Maybe. Maybe Cole.”

That put a full smile on his lips. “Well, Miss Maybe. Welcome to Red Star Ranch. Let’s head inside, and we can talk.” He led the way and held the door before calling softly, “Faina.” One of the wolfish looking Russian Hounds lifted her head and then came to his side. “Vernut'sya v saray,” he said to the others, sending them back to the barn and to guarding his livelihood while he kept the sweet bitch with him. Out of the pack, she was the calmest yet the most fierce when it came to protecting what Bucky claimed as his.

He had a feeling about Maybe. A feeling he hadn’t felt in years. One that stirred his protective instincts while setting an alarm bell screaming. The woman was trouble with a capital T. He just didn’t know why yet.

She’d stopped to gape in amazement a few feet in the door. “Wow. This was not what I expected when they said your ranch was looking for a cook.”

Bucky chuckled softly and walked across the open expanse of living and dining room to the granite and maple kitchen where he took down a second cup and poured her a mug of coffee. “I like my living state of the art. I’m citified that way.”

Faina bumped his leg with her nose, and he took a dog biscuit out of a jar. “Sidet’.” She sat and waited patiently until he handed her the cookie. “Good girl.” Bucky scratched her ear and watched fondly as she trotted off with her treat to flop on the big pillow by the window and munch.

When he looked up, Maybe was still standing by the door. “Would you be more comfortable on the sofa?”

She seemed to shake herself awake from watching his dog and made her way across the room, her limp prominent. “Counter’s fine. I’m sorry. I’ve never seen dogs like yours before.”

“Most people haven’t. The three reds are Russian Hounds. Great for guarding and hunting. The two big greys are Irish Wolfhounds. Excellent protectors. The keep away the predators.”

She sat and nodded, accepting the coffee he nudged her way. “So… about the job?”

“Who sent you?”

“Mary, down at Sherman’s Dinner. I went in looking for work, but…” She lightly shook her cane. “People have a hard time hiring cripples.”

“Can’t image waitressin’ would be easy with only one hand.”

She frowned at him, likely trying to figure out if he was making fun of her or being serious. “I went in for a cook job. I can work just fine.”

“I’m sure you can. You taught yourself to drive with your left foot after all.”

She looked surprised before a small smile flitted across her face. “Yes, that I did.”

“What qualifications do you have?” he asked.

A shadow flitted over her features. “Big family dinners where I learned to cook at my grandmother’s elbow. I went to culinary school in New York, worked a couple of different restaurants in the big city before deciding that life wasn’t for me. Struck out west, moved around a bit, wound up in Easthallow and they sent me out here.”

“At five am?”

She shrugged. “It’s a ranch. I expected you to be up and started early. I didn’t want to interrupt a day in progress. Figured it was best to catch you at sun up.”

By the look of the bags beneath her eyes, she hadn’t been sleeping anyway. Bucky took in her face. It was delicate, elegant, like fine but brittle china with sharp angles and edges. There was a whole lot of bravado happening, but he could tell she was exhausted. Tired of life, of running, of continually being scared. He’d seen it all before. Some he’d seen on his own face when he’d looked in the mirror.

But her shoulders were straight, her spine stiff, and her blue eyes never wavered. They made her appear like the fairy he’d named her, as did the white blonde hair that matched her eyebrows. She was a bit otherworldly in her appearance.

“I’m feeding a crew of fifteen at the moment.”

“I can handle that,” she murmured.

“Just lunch though. Breakfast and dinners are only gonna be seven. I’ve five crew that live on site. The other ten have places in town. You’ll need to stay here. I can provide you with ground floor accommodations. There’s a ranch truck you can use for grocery runs. The store in town knows to put it on my tab.” He took his cup to the sink and rinsed it out. “Have a look around. If there’s anything you need, write a list. I’ll see it gets ordered in, or have someone run over to the Walmart in Gainesville. We’ll want good, hearty meals. None of that skimpy New York plating.”

“What would you know of New York plating?” she asked.

“You’d be surprised. I told you I got citified enough to do this to my house,” Bucky chuckled.

Maybe sat quietly for a moment, just observing him, her mind working hard and only Faina’s chewing to break the silence. “You’re not going to ask for references?”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “Though you’ll be gettin’ the chance to audition when you make lunch for the hands today.”

Her brows shot up to her hairline. “And my leg? You’re not at all curious?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side. “You’ll tell me when you want to. I do have one question though.”

“Shoot,” she nodded.

“Is the thing you’re runnin’ from gonna come looking for you here, and if it does, will it be dangerous?”

The blood fled her face. “It shouldn’t,” she whispered. “But if it does? Yes. There will be danger.” She rose and looked away, shame paling her further. “I shouldn’t be here. I’ll go.”

“Maybe.” He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She immediately stiffened causing Bucky to release her. “I didn’t tell you to go. I’m only asking to be prepared. You stayin’ in town?”

She shook her head. “Everything’s in my truck.”

“Let’s get your stuff. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying, and you can start on that list. And if you don’t have boots, you’d best add those to the list. You can’t work here without boots.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nah, doll. It’s just Bucky.” He held the door open for her. “Sir was my pops, and he’s not around anymore.”

“Alright… Bucky,” she murmured, a smile curling her lips. “Thank you for this chance.”

“We’re gonna make you work for it, darlin’. My men eat like elephants.”

“That’s okay. I’m used to feeding the masses.” At the stairs when he held out his hand, she took it without hesitation. “My disability really doesn’t bother you?”

“Not one bit.”

A genuine, full smile broke on her lips. “Thank you.”

“Maybe,” he grinned at her, “if your cooking is half as strong as your determination, I’m gonna be thanking you come lunch time.”  

***

Maybe had a good long look at the bedroom before frowning up at him. “This is your room.”

“It's not.” A smile quirked the corner of his lips. “I told you. I like to live civilized.”

She shook her head and limped into the room where she heaved her duffle bag up on the king-sized bed. He'd tried to take it from her, but when it contained everything she owned, Maybe was leery of just handing it over to strangers.

He had that “aw shucks” cowboy act down pat. Soft voice, soft smile, but his eyes were sharp. Assessing. Glacier blue with hints of storm cloud grey. They saw far more than she wanted him too and left her feeling stripped bare.

“I'll leave you to get settled.” He set the second bag, that one full of clothes, on the bed beside the first and stepped back. “There's a notepad in the drawer beneath the phone in the kitchen. Check it out. Make a list. I'll be back in a couple of hours to take you into town and introduce you around.”

“I don't need a keeper. I'll be fine on my own,” she said softly.

“I'm sure you would, but I've got to put in an order at the feed store. No point in making two trips.” He headed out, hands going to adjust his hat, lifting it enough to slide his fingers through dark locks.

Maybe watched him go, then limped back to the door to find it did have a lock on it. It was only the knob and would do little to keep a man that size out if he wanted in, but it made her feel a tiny bit better.

She didn't unpack but went out to the kitchen when she heard the door shut and began making her lists. There was no point unpacking until she knew she'd be staying around a while.

But Maybe froze when she shuffled around the corner only to find Faina the dog gnawing on her bone on the big pillow by the window. She paused, eyed Maybe for one long moment then went back to chewing.

Had he left the dog to watch her in case she was a thief? Or did he think she needed company? Maybe didn't know, and frankly, she shouldn't care why her possible employer did anything.

She was here to work, not make friends. 

Grabbing the pad of paper she found by the phone, she rested her cane against the island and used the countertop for support.

She worked her way through every shelf and every drawer until she knew the kitchen like she knew her name before turning toward the fridge and freezer. But a shifting shadow beyond the patio doors had her head jerking up.

A large man, not Bucky, watched her from the window. Maybe jumped in surprise and stepped back without thinking onto her bad leg, sending her crashing to the ground.

She landed hard on her hip and slammed her head against the cabinet, causing her to see stars and swear the air blue.

“Whoa, shit!” came from the now open door. “Geez, doll. You alright? I didn't mean to scare you.”

He rounded the island and crouched a few feet away, not getting any closer when she flinched away from him.

“Who the hell are you?” Maybe snapped, cradling her skull in a desperate attempt to end the throbbing. The pain screaming down her thigh was nothing new, but she didn't dare move. Not just yet. She knew there would be no standing on it until the nerve pain stopped pulsing.

“Steve Rogers. I work here. I'm really sorry about that. Buck said there was a new cook, but I'd forgotten until I got here and then was surprised to find someone in Buck's house. I was doing some pondering when I startled you. Can I help you up or get you an ice pack?”

Maybe waved a hand when he shifted closer. He reminded her of a kicked golden retriever with those sad, sappy eyes. “Ice, yes. Up, no.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “Muscle atrophy or nerve damage?” he asked rising to shut the fridge door and pull open the freezer.

“Uh, both. How did you know?”

“I'm a rehabilitation therapist. It's what I do,” he smiled and sat on the floor before holding out the ice pack.

Faina wandered over to stick her nose beneath Steve's arm, prompting him to wrap it around her neck.

Maybe had a moment to think, if the dog thought he was okay, then he was probably okay, before asking. “Rehab? Isn't this a ranch?”

“It is. Bucky's got twenty to thirty thousand head of cattle he raised for market every year, but the ranch is more than just cattle.”

“I don't understand.”

Steve smiled, but it was a bit strained. “All of us who work here are vets. Veterans. This place is a rehabilitation center for guys who struggle either mentally or physically after coming back from war.”

She felt her jaw unhinge. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled. “The guys who work here full time were all part of our unit. When we came home, Buck had this crazy idea and after the settlement, well…” He shrugged and stopped talking, shooting her a worried glance.

She wondered if he thought he'd said too much but Maybe was good with secrets. She carried enough of her own, so knew not to pry deeper.

“Guess I can see why my disability didn't bother him,” she said instead.

“We've all got scars,” Steve shrugged. “Some are just easier to see.” He climbed to his feet and patted the dog before skirting Maybe's feet to crouch at her side. “If you trust me, I can get you off the floor to a better location to wait out the nerve pain.”

She eyed him with suspicion, but when he only waited, calm as can be, she gave a slow nod.

“Alright. Seein’ as how we're about to get a little familiar, think I could get your name?”

She sighed, knowing if she answered as she usually did it would lead to more talking and her head was pounding. “It's Maybe. Maybe Cole.”

“Pleasure,” Steve murmured. “Can you put your arm around my neck?”

She had to move the ice pack to do that, but figured short term sacrifices for future gains and slung her arm around him.

“We're gonna go slow. Too fast and your leg will jerk making that quad spasm. Take a deep breath and blow it out.”

His arms slid beneath her as she breathed in. When she blew it out, he lifted her a few inches off the ground, allowing her feet to slide and knees to bend slowly.

“Good so far?”

“Yeah.” She would have nodded, but the headache roaring made that unwise.

"Going again. Breathe in and blow it out.”

He did it a few more times until her feet dangled, knees now bent, causing the muscles to pull but the pain was minimal.

“I'm gonna stand up now. Slowly. Just keep focusing on your breathing.”

He rolled back on his toes, and lifted her straight up with minimal sway and hardly any jerk.

“Damn,” Maybe sighed. “How strong are you?”

Steve chuckled - more like rumbled - and headed for the couch as the patio doors opened. She looked up in time to watch Bucky walk in before those ice blue eyes focused on her.

Bucky's face darkened as he growled, “Wanna catch me up, Punk?”

“I fell,” Maybe huffed, “when silent Bob here decided to lurk at the door instead of coming inside. Scared me out of another of my nine lives,” she grumbled.

Bucky's face cleared, falling back into that easy smile. “You part cat, darlin’ to have nine lives?”

“If I were, I would have landed on my feet, not my head and hip.”

Steve gave another of those rumble laughs and continued toward the large couch where he set her down with the same care he'd used to pick her up. “You got pain meds I can get for you?”

Maybe closed her eyes and leaned back on the ice pack. “I'll be fine.”

“Think Buck may have some codeine still. I can get you one to take the edge off,” Steve said pushing to his feet.

“I'm fine!” she snapped, then sighed when both men froze. “Look, I don't take drugs. Any drugs.”

“That's your choice, Maybe,” Bucky murmured. Then he kissed to Faina and brought the dog around the couch, Steve smirking as he moved out of the way. “Nezhnyy. Ukhod,” he said to the dog who carefully climbed on the sofa beside her and nudged her head beneath Maybe's hand.

“I… I don't understand,” Maybe frowned.

“Faina is a therapy dog. It’s been proven animal companions can reduce pain just by being present,” Bucky explained. “All you’ve gotta do is pet her ears.”

They were soft, and Faina looked at her with such big pleading eyes. It was like the dog had gone from wary watchdog to pleading puppy in an instant. Maybe’s fingers twitched, then slowly began to stroke over the soft reddy brown fur. A pink tongue flicked over her elbow and made Maybe smile.

“We’ll leave you to rest for a bit,” Bucky said. “I’ll check on you in an hour. If you’re feelin’ up to it, we’ll head into town.”

Maybe closed her eyes. “Sounds good.”

Boots scuffed over hardwood before the door opened and closed, leaving Maybe alone with Faina, the dog’s tail wagging slow enough that the slight thump against her good leg was soothing. Maybe there was something to this animal therapy thing.

Her last thought before she drifted into a light doze was what Steve had come to the house for in the first place.

***

Bucky shut the door and moved out into the yard with Steve before speaking. “So?”

“You were right. Skittish, sure. Guarded. But stronger than her look implies. Woman’s got a core of steel.”

“The leg?” Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head. “Muscle atrophy. Nerve damage. The little I could feel through her clothes there could be a lot of missing tissue. I swear I didn’t intend to freak her out and make her fall. I was trying to get a bead on her gate pattern before I went inside.”

“Can you help her?”

Steve shrugged. “If she’ll let me. There’s a lot I can do holistically without drugs, but Buck… you can’t push her. Whatever happened to her has made her hard. Give her time to get to know us and trust us.”

“Hm, you’re the boss, Stevie,” he snickered.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Only when it comes to recovery. The rest of this is all you, man.”

“Let’s go see how Sam’s making out with that filly.”

“Still can’t believe we got Falcon _on_ a horse let alone training them.”

Bucky chuckled but nodded. “Yeah, but I couldn’t imagine doing any of this without you guys.”

“It was our dream as much as yours, Buck. Giving guys like us the help they need without judgement or pressure? That's everything.”

He patted Steve’s back and ignored the choked sensation in his throat as he looked out over his land.

He really did feel like he was living his dream.


End file.
